


Peace Process

by MsSolo



Series: Detente [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Coffee Addiction, Coming Out, Gen, Jack Drake is a bad parent, M/M, cutting someone off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSolo/pseuds/MsSolo
Summary: "You need to empty the can first.""I don't have any more bags. When was the last time you went back on a decision? You 'improved' upon it?""I am not saying I ever have. I have never made a less than perfect decision. I merely propose it as an option for you to reduce the paralysis you clearly face in this area." Damian taps the trash can. "Would I be wrong in suggesting you have not purchased any more bags because you have not found the perfect bags to purchase?""No. I have, they're just from the grocery store by the manor and I haven't had a chance to swing by recently." Tim throws his hands up as Damian takes the trash can away from him. "Though, admittedly, I could probably live with an imperfect trash bag, under the circumstances."





	1. Teenagers

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a series of shorts set in the Detente universe at various points between Damian getting suspended and his 18th birthday. It may go further than that, but the focus here is mainly on the lots of little steps it takes to get to a healthy, strong relationship (at least, as healthy as any batfam relationship can be!).
> 
> These are much shorter than the main fics in the series, so I'll try and post them more often. There's a certain amount of set up needed in these before the next longer fic. I've tagged for all the shorts I've sketched out, but I may add more characters and tags as I go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set at the beginning of Negotiation, the morning before Damian's patrol with Dick.

"I will drive _myself_ to school!"

Damian's chair falls to the ground behind him. He kicks it viciously out of his way and storms across the kitchen. He slams the kitchen door, and his footsteps can be heard stomping away towards the garage.

Bruce stared at the door, still vibrating in its frame.. He's not entirely clear what just happened.

"I should get a blood sample," he plans aloud. "It could be a new kind of Scarecrow toxin? Or something Ivy's cooked up."

Alfred raises an eyebrow.

"Something is wrong. There is no way eggs put Damian into such a rage. That kind of overreaction suggestions there's something wrong with his brain chemistry."

"If I might venture, Master Bruce, there may be another explanation." Alfred scrapes Damian's uneaten eggs into Titus's dish. The dog gobbles the leftovers down and slobbers over the bowl and surrounding floor.

"Body swapping? I have considered it. The rage suggests Jason, but he would never turn down your cooking. It's definitely not Dick or Tim. Unless you're suggesting it is a rogue? Not one of Ra's people, not with that temper, but it's possible it's some kind of accident."

"It is also possible, Master Bruce, that he's a teenager."

"One of the Titans? Why wouldn't they reveal themself immediately?"

Alfred sighs. It's a sigh Bruce knows intimately. It is one of the sighs he's on the receiving end of most often, which he feels is unfair. It's the "call yourself the world's greatest detective" sigh, which usually accompanies a failure to recognise an obscure piece of restoration theatre, or when a date is unreasonably angry about his overlooking the small matter of the start time of a date, or if one of his children...

Ah.

"You're suggesting that Damian is, in fact a teenager himself." Bruce pushes his own eggs around his plate. Titus places his drool covered jaw on Bruce's knee hopefully. Bruce is going to have to change pants, again, before he leaves for Wayne Enterprises. "You know, Alfred, it hasn't actually escaped my notice that Damian is a teenager, since it's a state he's existed in for several years now. He has never exhibited behaviour like this before."

"It is my opinion, Master Bruce, that this may be more due to circumstance more than luck. Master Damian's narrow focus on the mission has not left much space in his life for the usual adolescent trials, but their intrusion on his life was always, alas, inevitable."

"Trials like what? I know Tim said he was having trouble with a boy at school, but I thought that had been resolved. Damian is mature enough to ignore that kind of childish teasing."

"There are other things that intrude upon the mind of a maturing boy."

"Oh god." Bruce's appetite is well and truly gone. "Oh no. I'm not ready for that, Alfred." He puts his breakfast plate on the floor for Titus, who licks it clean in a single movement.

"Frankly, sir, you have been fortunate in not needing to confront it earlier."

"I was hoping I'd never have to confront it. Do you remember Dick? Dick and Barbara. Dick and Koriand'r. Dick and Barbara again." He puts his head in his hands.

"Perhaps, Master Bruce, one might be able to take advantage of the way history repeats itself, and our experiences first time around?"

"Make Jim Gordon deal with it?"

Alfred picks Bruce's plate up off the floor and rinses the saliva from it into the mop sink, before putting it in the dish sink to wash before he puts it into the dishwasher. Bruce knows Alfred's explained to him on more than one occasion why this is necessary for hygiene and the manor's ancient plumbing, but it still seems like overkill to him. Things usually work out.

He expressed an opinion in a similar vein once, back in his bachelor days when he'd forgotten about a gala that he'd been supposed to host. "Alfred," he'd said the day after. "I don't know what you were so stressed about. It all worked out, like magic."

And Alfred had levelled his gaze at him and said, "I am the wizard, Master Bruce. I made the magic."

Bruce has never belittled the work Alfred does again after that, even if he doesn't understand it.

"Maybe Master Dick might have some insight?"

Maybe... "Alfred, you're a genius. We can make Dick deal with it! Damian was always more comfortable with him when it comes to matters like... emotional matters." Normally that stings, but right now it is a blessed, blessed relief. "I'll call him from the office at lunch. He can find out what's wrong." He stands up, finishing the last of his coffee and placing the mug directly into the dishwasher, ignoring Alfred's disapproving frown. Bruce gestures at his dog drool covered legs. "I need to buy some more pants on the way, so I should set off now. Remind me, this is-"

"Gautier, Master Bruce. Charcoal, fall collection. And on the subject of your son-"

"Dick will fix it," Bruce says, smiling at the older man. "He has the rapport with Damian. They're due to patrol together tonight, so the timing is perfect. Thank you for pointing it out to me."

Maybe he'll take the Chevrolet today.

#

Alfred tuts at Bruce's retreating back, knowing his ward won't hear him. "Heaven forbid he spend some time with the boy outside of the suit," he tells Titus. "He likes to pretend he was different at that age, but the stories I could tell you, my friend. Your young master is a positive saint."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's line about being a wizard is cribbed from a discussion about emotional labour over at APracticalWedding.com. I like to think one of Batman's issues is that he's more Brucie than he acknowledges - he's grown up with immense privilege and certain things in life just... work out for him. He's never had to clean rancid eggs out of a dishwasher drain!


	2. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a couple of weeks after Negotiation.
> 
> (apparently all the invisible labour it takes to adult functionally is a bit of theme in these shorts!)

Of course he has to do everything himself.

It's not as though he wants to, but he supposes if Drake lacks the executive function to clean his apartment, he necessarily lacks it to hire the services of a maid. It is no doubt languishing on a to do list that has been lost in the detritus. Maybe it's serving as a coaster for the mould filled mug on the bedroom floor, or part of the pile of paperwork currently engaging in wedging the closet door as close to shut as it can go. Maybe it's in the fridge, along with a pair of sunglasses, a cartoon that says milk but is now clearly yoghurt, some DNA samples, and take out boxes that Damian is pretty sure he saw on the floor during the ninja attack he'd helped thwart. Maybe it's-

"It's a digital list, Damian," Tim says, voice etched with irritation. "I _am_ doing my best to not generate additional trash." He holds his phone out for Damian to see, where "research maid services" sits in the middle of a list of equally overdue tasks. Of course it's "research" - Drake can't not make a mountain out of every mole hill. It's why there are so many tasks on his list he hasn't started; every simple decision has to be researched and analysed and tested and reviewed. Damian admires Tim's thoroughness in many areas of his life, but he lacks the self-confidence to just make a decision and trust it to be right sometimes. He is treating hiring a maid with the same gravity he does the Riddler's puzzles.

Damian frowns. "You were due a dental check up three weeks ago," he says. "I will book that for you as well." He adds himself to the list app with equal privileges to Tim.

"You're not my secretary, Damian."

"Did Fox book an appointment for you?"

"That's not Tam's job, either. My teeth aren't a business expense, and I know what you're going to say, but that's the sort of thing he gets away with as Brucie. I don't have that luxury if I want to be taken seriously."

"So I will not be undermining her professionally if I do it?"

"That wasn't my point. I can book my own appointments."

"Clearly you can't, Drake." Damian tuts as he scrolls through the list. "Have you ever considered that where lives are _not_ at stake, you may simply make a decision? If it turns out not to be the best one, you can improve on it later."

"Really?" Tim says dryly. He's removing the worst offenders from the refrigerator now that Damian has pointed them out and is engaged in balancing them carefully on top of the already over full trash can.

Damian sighs. "Stop that. You need to empty the can first."

"I don't have any more bags. When was the last time you went back on a decision? You 'improved' upon it?"

"I am not saying I ever have. I have never made a less than perfect decision. I merely propose it as an option for you to reduce the paralysis you clearly face in this area." Damian taps the trash can. "Would I be wrong in suggesting you have not purchased any more bags because you have not found the perfect bags to purchase?"

"No. I have, they're just from the grocery store by the manor and I haven't had a chance to swing by recently." Tim throws his hands up as Damian takes the trash can away from him. "Though, admittedly, I could probably live with an imperfect trash bag, under the circumstances."

Damian considers the dimensions of the trash can. "Two bags a week, maybe less?"

"It averages out as one point seven. Less trash if I visit the mansion more often, more if I'm studying."

Of course Drake knows that. Of course he knows _that_ , but doesn't know a nearer grocery store to buy bags at.

"Do you recycle?"

"Glass, aluminium, paper. There's a chute for them so I don't need bags."

"Bags make it easier to transport them to the chute."

"What are you planning, Damian?"

"Tt. Clearly, when you are overwhelmed domestic labour becomes a mental block. No doubt you have done time and motion studies on many chores rather than spending the time completing them. Share your data with me, and I will action it for you."

It's so obvious. He doesn't know why Tim is resisting him on this. There is no shame in it. Batman does not mop floors, and Alfred does not swing between roof tops. The important thing is appropriate remuneration. His mother had been clear that she would do no more unpaid labour than any other assassin simply because of her gender. House work is _work_.

Frankly, Tim needs an Alfred, but since the butler has no equal Damian will have to cobble together an inefficient equivalent from various commercially available services.

"Do you do this for anyone else?" Tim asks.

"I have groceries delivered to Grayson every other week to ensure he eats at least one meal a day that isn't cereal. I signed Todd up to a book club to force him to interact with other people in a non-violent context." 

He also pays for Cain's Netflix service and a make up subscription box for Brown, but that's because both women have been better socialised to take care of their own needs, so his only recourse was to 'treat' them. Last time he visited Brown she showed him how tightline his eyes, which makes him look significantly older and more sensual. He isn't sure when he'll use it, but he thinks maybe he'll arrange a Titans missions where he has to disguise himself, just to see them gape at him.

He doesn't want Jon back, obviously. But he wants Jon to want him back. Just a little.

"This is... how you show affection." Tim leans against the counter and massages his temples. The pitch of his voice suggests he's talking to himself, but Damian is right here. He wonders how long it's been since Tim slept. "Of course it is. God, you're so _Bruce_ sometimes."

"Does this mean you'll allow me to move forwards with this?"

Tim presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Fine, yes. But set a reminder to review it in a month's time. In case there are _improvements_ that can be made."

Damian nods, once, pleased with Tim's capitulation. It has taken less work than he anticipated. It also absolves him from spending another moment contemplating Tim's kitchen.

"You will stay at the mansion until the first cleaning is complete."

"Okay." 

Tim fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie. Damian makes a note to bring Tim's laundry with them for Alfred to clean. Or maybe they should just burn the lot, and replace it with more appropriate clothing. No more logos or oversized items. 

"You know," Tim says, "much as I admire your ability to cut through the noise and just make a decision, binding yourself to it isn't a sign of character. It can take more strength to admit you're wrong and make a change than it does to hold to a course that's long since stopped being suitable." He smiles at Damian. "After all, this time last year I wouldn't have considered being alone in the same room as you."

The thought hits Damian's unexpectedly hard. He's winded by it for a moment and his heart thumps painfully. He looks at Tim, who is still smiling at him with that touch of sadness Damian often sees on his face. Damian doesn't know what to do. It's like he's feeling so much that there's no sense of what, just pure emotion.

"Damian?"

"Circumstances change," Damian says thickly. "Sometimes it is not a matter of re-evaluating a decision. Your choice to cut me off was the best one at the time." It hurts to acknowledge that, but it's true, and Damian does not believe in self-delusion.

"And letting you back in is the best one now," Tim says. He slides a socked foot across the linoleum and nudges Damian with it. Damian remembers the sofa, how Tim had somehow known the hard maximum of physical contact he could stand while providing the comfort only physical affection could offer.

There's a lump in Damian's throat and he just wants the conversation to be over now so he can go back to googling cleaners. Cleaners don't make him feel like this. They don't make him feel anything. That's why it's easy to just pick one, and not get lost in decision making.

Damian blinks to rid his eyes of their treacherous dampness, and returns Tim's small smile.

"Let us see if you still feel that way in a month's time, when I have rearranged your life for you," Damian says. "Apparently some people find it 'meddlesome'."

"I look forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Dick thinks the groceries are from Alfred, Jason's book group contains a couple of mob wives, and Cass thinks Netflix just is free. Only Steph figured out she hadn't actually won a prize of a lifetime supply of Birchbox, which is why she calls Damian when she gets something she thinks he'll like (though they don't acknowledge it's a gift from him). I imagine most of these were set up when Damian and Tim weren't talking, or he'd already be the confused owner of a daylight alarm clock (he'd probably think it was Ra's and refuse to use it without excessive investigation first).


	3. Recital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a bit after the last chapter (it could be before, but that seems needlessly complicated in terms of chapter order!). I know basically nothing about classical music, so all the music talk is the result of some hasty googling. Apologies to any classical music buffs!

Damian lowers his violin and looks out at the audience for the first time. He never looks before he takes the stage. If the other students ask, he tells them it is a superstition from his mother's country (his exotic, unknowable mother, subject of so much speculation). He's lying. 

It's better to be pleasantly surprised after a performance than weighed down with disappointment before. He plays better when he doesn't know who's watching, or who isn't.

Alfred is easy to pick out. He always comes, even if it clashes with another event. Father attends maybe half of Damian's recitals. Usually he'll miss several in a row, and then Alfred will drag him along to one, and then he will remember to come of his own accord for another couple before the mission interrupts and begins the cycle of forgetting again.

He was better at remembering when Selina came as well, but since she is no longer his future stepmother she is under no obligation to attend any more. He has seen her, once or twice, since.

Sometimes his mother attends. She always sits at the back when she does, away from Alfred and the family. He knows when she is going to be there because she has flowers delivered beforehand.

Dick comes when he's in Gotham, as does Cass, though she's around a lot less often. Damian thinks she gets more out of it than Dick, though. She understands what the music means in a way Dick doesn't. Jason came once, and left during the interval, though he had Oracle pass a message on that evening to acknowledge Damian's prowess. Well, it said, "You're good, kid. Maybe too good." Damian has chosen to take it as compliment.

Tim hasn't come since he lived at the mansion. Damian has no expectation he will. Even as things slowly warm between them, it's still a circle of Damian's life that overlaps with nothing in Tim's. Their venn diagram is two wholly separate spots when it comes to music.

But Tim is there tonight, sat with Alfred, a little overdressed for a local music school's recital (but then, Alfred always is as well). Damian's eye catches on him, and he wobbles in his bow.

Damian stays backstage until all of the students have performed. He isn't sure what to make of Tim's presence. He'd said he'd come after Damian performed in his class, but Damian had not considered that to be a real promise.

His family aren't good at keeping promises.

He lingers until people start leaving. Tim is an unknown quantity when it comes to departure. Dick embarrasses him with hugs. Cass stares at him like he's performed a magic trick. On one occasion she fled the hall as he approached and sent her apology by way of Steph the next day. He had to promise never to play Shostakovitch without warning again. Mother leaves before he can find her (but discretely). Father sometimes gives him a handshake, but more often than not is distracted either by Batman or Brucie. Brucie is worse, watching him make a fool of himself around his fellow musicians' mothers. 

Alfred is the only one who knows how to behave at a concert.

Damian emerges into the theatre lobby, violin held in front of him like a shield. Tim and Alfred are stood together by the concession stand. There are still some people milling around, mostly parents, but it does not take long for Tim to spot him.

"I mentioned to Alfred I wanted to hear you play again, so he brought me along," Tim says. "I hope you don't mind. I'd have let you know if I'd planned it further in advance."

"The concerts are open to all."

"It was Tchaikovsky?" 

"Tt." Of course it was Tchaikovsky. Tim's holding the programme in his hand, which identifies the piece as Tchaikovsky, and includes several notes Damian wrote himself. "The violin solo is complex, but the concerto is hardly obscure, Drake. Perhaps you recognise it from some piece of popular culture?"

"I've never heard it before," Tim says. "It's powerful."

Damian tilts his head and stares Tim in the eye for a moment.

"You like Bach better," he concludes eventually.

Tim shrugs, a small smile on his lips. "Maybe. They're very different."

"So do I."

Alfred sighs. "Heathens, both of you. Mozart is the only true genius. Come now, our dinner reservation awaits."


	4. Baggage

"You finally see what I see in him," Dick says. "Pick?"

"Pick who? Oh." Tim hands Nightwing a lock pick. "I don't think I do."

"Of course you do. His loyalty, his passion, his intellect."

"All things he spent years using against me," Tim reminds him. "Don't get me wrong, it's nice to be on his good side for now, and it is a _new_ side I'm seeing, but it doesn't mean it's going to last forever. Try this one," he adds, passing Dick a different pick.

"You can't go into this thinking like that. You're inability to trust him is what made things so fraught between you in the first place."

"They weren't fraught, Dick, they were hell. We weren't making passive aggressive remarks over tea. He cut my grapple. I pushed him off a building."

"Wait, what?"

"Oh, you didn't know about that. Sorry. He was fine, obviously." Tim rubs the back of his head. He does feel a bit guilty about that one, but he'd lost his temper. Damian has the ability to provoke strong emotions in him that most people can't reach. It makes him a little frightening to be around. He makes Tim feel like he's brought chess pieces to a medieval tournament. Everything's just so much bigger and realer in Damian's life. "The point is it wasn't sibling rivalry. We hated each other. I didn't trust him because he wanted me dead."

"But you've shown you can work past that now. I just wish you hadn't lost so many years you could have spent together."

"You don't get it, Dick! We couldn't have spent those years together. One of us would be dead by now if we had. We needed the time to grow apart, to change, so we could start over." Tim sighs. "You know it's not your fault, right, Dick?"

The lock clicks open and Dick sticks a foot in the door to stop it closing again. He twists to look at Tim.

"I shouldn't have taken Robin from you," he says.

"It's the only way the mantle ever seems to get passed on," Tim points out dryly. "At least it was you passing it on, this time. The timing was bad, but you weren't wrong that it was the only way to get him to exercise any restraint."

"I just wish I'd done it differently. I never wanted to put you at odds with each other."

"Talia is the one who told him to kill me, remember? You didn't put us at odds. Unless you expected me to passively role over for him?"

"Of course not!"

"Well then. Not your fault. Talia's."

"But if I'd-"

"Dick, there was literally nothing you could possibly have done that would have started us off on the right foot. I was in a bad place, Damian was scared and confused, and then Bruce complicated everything further by dying. And we got... trapped. We couldn't see each other for our history. We _needed_ the break, Dick. It was the only way out of the cycle." Tim shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He'd really like to be done with this now. "Dick, when you kept trying to force us together, that was not okay. I set that boundary for a reason, and it really hurt that you refused to respect it. And I know I don't have the best track record at listening to other people when I think I know better, so it's not like I don't know where you were coming from. I've forgiven you, but every time you insist on bringing this up you're dredging a lot of stuff back up to the surface that's hard to ignore. My relationship with Damian isn't about you. It never should have been, and I'm sorry when you made him Robin I tried to turn it into that. 

"I really need you to back off, okay? We're talking again. We're meeting as equals, as adults, and I really don't want to bring back all the baggage from when we were younger. I need you to stop trying to give it back."

He hates hurting Dick. He wants to tell him everything is fine, that Dick is right, that it's sunshine and rainbows. Instead, he has to force himself to stay quiet while Dick processes his words, to watch the slump of his shoulders and the set of his jaw and know that he's cut right to the heart of Dick.

"I love you," Tim says when he can't take it any more. "You know that."

"I love you too, Timbo. I guess... I guess I'm still carrying that baggage myself. It was a tough time, and it felt like every choice I made was making things worse for someone I cared about. I keep going over it, looking for things I could have done differently."

"I know that feeling, but maybe you should take a leaf out of Damian's book and place a little confidence in your past self's decision making ability and let it go. We're not Bruce. We don't have to take every little interaction and add it to the mission."

"He's like an emotional sherpa."

"He really is." Tim spreads his arms. "Come on, I know when you need a hug, big brother."

Dick grins. He bounds over and flings both arms around Tim, scooping him up onto his tiptoes, and presses their cheeks together. He makes Tim feel like the centre of the universe, and he hugs back, squeezing Dick tightly enough that he'd feel it through his body armour.

"I can't believe," Dick says into Tim's cowl, "that you actually think Damian is right about something. I can't believe we've come so far."

"I can't believe you just let that door swing shut after you spent twenty minutes getting it open."


	5. Shots for shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been about five years since Tim, Kon, Bart and Cassie were all Titans, and obviously things have changed a bit since then. The way I'm writing it, Kon and Cassie have been on and off again ever since she first dumped him after coming back to life, but have been off again for long enough at this point it looks genuinely off. Kon has been dating around, Cassie is fairly serious with Captain Marvel Jnr. Tim is out to his friends, but still not to his family.

"Are you sure this is your place?" Kon asks. He picks one foot up off the carpet and stares at the sole. "I'm not sticking to anything."

"Harsh," Tim says. "I mean, true, but also harsh."

"What gives?"

"Damian hired a maid service for me."

"For real?"

Tim presses the Netflix button on the TV remote and flops onto the sofa. He hasn't had time to chill with Kon in a long while. They've got beer, chips, and a whole season of Luke Cage to stream. It's just like their Titan days. But with beer!

He might have had one while waiting for Kon to get there. One and a half.

"Ma would have my guts if I ever suggested hiring someone to clean my shit up for me," Kon says.

Tim shrugs. "I didn't like it at first, but I kept trying to get my shit together and failing. And Damian dragged me over to the mansion for a few days and when I came back I discovered the hardwood flooring was pine, not dark walnut."

He still feels a bit weird about it, but it's so much nicer living somewhere clean. He sleeps better now his bedroom isn't full of clutter that catches his eye as he's trying to sleep. He eats better now he has clean pots and pans and everything in the fridge is in date. He focuses better on school work now he has to keep all his casework in the basement where the cleaners won't accidentally stumble across it. Sure, he's ashamed that he need this, but he's so much less ashamed than he was living in a garbage heap. 

"Why do you think I finally invited you over?" he asks. "Would you have wanted to hang out here before?"

"Of course I did! I mean, I might have hovered rather than sit down, but I'd hang out with you in Arkham if you asked me to." Kon looks hurt. "You haven't seriously been avoiding me just because of a bit of mess?"

Tim fiddles with the ring pull on his beer can. "I've been busy," he says. "With WE, and school, and bat stuff... I didn't realise how much I'd been taking the structure the Titans gave us for granted. Without those weekends it was so easy to let time just slip by."

"I don't know how you cope. I'm slammed just with school."

"Yeah, 'just' school. I've seen your instagram, Kon. I don't even know how you find time to go to school."

"It's Hawaii, bro. That's just what life is like. You should come hang. Get a bit of vitamin d." Kon grins. "You know, Vitamin _D_."

"That was _weak_. And I get all the D I've got time for here in Gotham."

"So none, then."

"Some!" Tim throws a cushion at Kon. "Are you seriously with Star Girl now, or are you still just trying to make Cassie jealous?"

"Oh, subtle subject change! Yes, I'm dating Court, and no, it's nothing to do with Cassie."

"Doesn't Courtney have a history with Freddy?"

"Everyone has a history with everyone in this community, bro. It's the most incestuous thing ever." Kon grins. "We're not planning to double date or anything. Like, there's awkward and there's _awkward_. Speaking of awkward, I get the impression things are pretty tense with the current Titans right now."

"Equally subtle subject change," Tim says dryly. "It's the Teen Titans. There's always drama."

"The big guy asked me to talk to Jon."

Tim shifts uncomfortably. Kon is digging, but Damian confided in Tim and he doesn't want to betray his trust.

"Yeah, and?" Tim reaches for the remote to start the show, but Kon tugs it out of his grip with his TTK.

"And your little brother has a lot to answer for, is all I'm saying. You know what's up with them, don't you?"

"I'm the world's second greatest detective. I also don't gossip."

"Do you know how I found out? I was woken up at six am by a terrified Jon because I shared a cute pic of him and the West twins." Kon is serious now. "I'm not telling you this because I wanna serve tea, Tim. I'm telling you think because your little brother is a tiny psycho who's got Jon convinced that if he so much as looks at another person Damian is going to seriously hurt him or them. It's not okay."

"I know," Tim says.

"You know? Are you okay with it?"

"It's over."

"Are you sure? Jon said Damian arranged an undercover mission for the two of them and spent the whole thing dressed like a rent boy."

That's news to Tim. He wonders if there's pictures.

"Showing off what your ex is missing is pretty standard, especially if you're seventeen and, well, a Bat." He pulls his hair out of its bun and puts it back up again, keeping his hands busy while he tries to arrange his thoughts. "Look, I've only heard Damian's version, but he knows he behaved badly. If you think about his role models, it's hardly surprising he got so intense. He's respecting the fact Jon dumped him, and if his worst behaviour now is dressing a little slutty then I think they'll be able to put it behind them."

"He wasn't intense, Tim. He forced Jon to lie about what was going on with them, and you know that's not something Jon does easily. He got jealous every time Jon spent time with anyone else. He planted a tracker on him to monitor his every movement. He was controlling and manipulative and cut Jon off from everyone else. Don't tell me that's just being Battish."

"No. No, you're right." Tim tries to smile at Kon, but can't hold it. "You didn't see him, though. I've never seen him in such pain. It's me that's playing down his actions; he was as blunt as you are about them. He's scared of himself, Kon. If I knew what to say to him to make it better, to help him control his worse impulses, I would. God knows I'm barely any better in a relationship."

Kon sighs. "You're all nuts, you know that? Just keep an eye on the kid. Jon's only fifteen. Damian's bigger and older and a Bat. Jon's just a naive kid who believes in fairy tales. He thought if he loved Damian enough Damian would change for him. He still thinks Damian might change, and it might work out, and he keeps telling me how they're friends again and it freaks me out, Tim. I don't know how to keep him safe here."

Tim swallows. "He is safe. Damian isn't going to change. Maybe he'll find someone who loves him for who he is, not an idea of who he could be, but that's not relevant to Jon. All Damian wants is to have things go back to the way they were before. He hasn't got many friends and he's terrified he ruined things with Jon."

"They should be ruined."

"Maybe they should, but Jon is too sweet to let Damian cut himself off like that." Tim fiddles with his beer. "You think he should quit the Titans for a while?" He doesn't like the thought of telling Damian to drop out, doesn't like the idea of telling Damian he's been talking about what happened with anyone else.

"Clark's taking Jon to the fortress for spring break. Maybe he'll come back to the Titans after, maybe not."

"Clark knows?" Tim sits upright. "You told him?"

"Jon told him. Then Clark invited me and Kara and Ma over, and we all had this rainbow cake. It was really cute."

"Damian isn't out to Bruce. Oh god, if Bruce finds out from Clark Damian _will_ flip."

Kon snorts. "Jeez, I can't imagine coming out to Batman. I don't know if Jon told him who, precisely, just that he'd been dating another boy in the Titans and it hadn't worked out."

"You think Clark would buy it was Jai?" Tim snorts. "Clark can't keep a secret either. I have to let Damian know."

"Yeah, well, when one person forces someone else to keep a secret, to lie for them, to suffer in silence, that's not a good thing. Big red flag, Rob. Pretty textbook."

"I know. But he's seventeen, and he's scared, and he was raised by the League of fucking Assassins, Kon. You don't get a rainbow cake in the League. You don't get a rainbow cake from Batman. You sure as hell don't get a rainbow cake for fucking up Superman's kid. There's a kid at his school who's been calling him homophobic names for two years and Bruce couldn't even be bothered to go pick him up when he finally lost his temper and punched the brat." Tim swallows the last of his beer. "I know he hurt Jon, but I can't help but feel for him, right now. _I_ haven't come out to Batman yet. Of course he wanted Jon to keep it a secret. Bruce is going to flip his shit when he finds out."

"He's got you, though. He can stay here."

"That's not the point. Bruce's approval means the world to him."

"Well, then you have to step up for him. Bake the rainbow cake and present it as a done deal. Get Alfred on side. If you all act like Batman is fine with it, maybe he'll go along with it."

The fear rising in Tim is visceral, wet and sour with beer, and he's grateful there's a clear path to the bathroom these days, just in case.

"Tim, dude?"

He swallows, hard, and pops the tab on another beer. He takes a long pull on it to try and drown the rising dread.

"Tim, you don't have to come out."

"I do, though, don't I?"

Kon shrugs, helpless. "Well, yeah, but if there's another way I'm sure you'll think of it. Meanwhile, tell Bruce, then fuck off to Hawaii with me. Fuck Red Robin, become Bird of Paradise instead. We can make you a whole new costume. Rainbow themed. Get Tan from Queer Eye to pick it out for you. First french tucked chest armour."

Laughter bubbles in Tim's chest. "Make it a challenge on RuPaul's Drag Race."

"That's the spirit." Kon reaches over and pulls Tim to his chest. "I'm sorry this affects you too. It's not fair."

"It's not," Tim agrees. "It's not fair that it ever happens to anyone. That it's a big deal. That everyone is straight until proven otherwise." He presses his head against Kon's shoulder. "My dad was homophobic," he says. "I always thought there was time, that there'd be a right moment to tell him, a moment when I'd know he was ready to hear it. It never came, and it's never going to come. I'll never prove him wrong or be pleasantly surprised by his acceptance. He died thinking I was straight, because everyone is straight until proven otherwise."

He hasn't thought about it in years. Time has blunted the worst of the grief, but not the anger. The beer can crinkles under his grip, and foam dribbles over his hand and onto Kon's shirt.

"Tell Batman, then, and whatever happens, good or bad, come to Hawaii. I'll make the cake."

"Pancakes."

"Pancakes, then. Rainbow stack."

"Strawberry syrup."

"And whipped cream. I know." Kon wraps his arm around Tim's shoulders and squeezes him tight. "It's going to be okay. I _know_ you, dude. You don't have anything to prove to me." He takes the beer can from Tim's hand and takes a swig. "Except that you're not a complete lightweight."

Tim snorts. "What are you suggesting?"

Kon reaches under the sofa. Tim feels the ripple of his TTK has he searches, and then his hand reappears, triumphantly clutching a bottle. 

"Okolehao!"

Tim pushes himself upright.

"Drinking game?"

"We're gonna watch Luke Cage, dude. A shot per shot. It's the only way."

"A shot per shot!"

Tomorrow, he needs a plan. Tonight, though, he needs a drink.


	6. Coming Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have any idea how US school terms works, whether the college spring break lines up with school ones, and so on. You may notice, as this series progresses, my ability to keep track of how old everyone is and what time of year it is gets... vague. Just go with it :)
> 
> Also, there are way too many Batkids. And I've include Duke, because I like him, even though I'm 95% ignoring anything DCnU and onwards.

Spring break starts in a couple of days, and Alfred has contrived to get the entire family around the table for dinner and broadly the same time. It's loud and chaotic and messy and it's family, and Tim just wants to memorise it and keep it and have it forever. Even the bit when Dick used a grapple gun to get the potatoes because Steph was hogging them, and when Duke ducked almost five minutes before Jason actually threw a bowl of mint sauce over him to Cass because his powers kicked in too soon, when Barbara had accidentally run over Alfred's foot, and when Titus decided the best route to his beloved master was straight through Bruce.

They've all been banished to the lounge now. Alfred has closed and locked the kitchen door with the expression of a man who is going to deal with it tomorrow.

"We're going to Hong Kong," Steph is saying excitedly, one arm around Cass. "Like, because of the triads moving into on Burnside, but also because I've never been and Cass is going to show me _everything_."

"I have a contact you can use," Bruce says. "I'll find his details."

"Oh, Cass has a bunch from when she was working out there."

"He runs a five star hotel."

Steph vibrates with pleasure. "Oh my god, Bruce, _yes_. So much yes. Wait, you mean he'll let us stay there, right? Not, like, go undercover as room service there?"

"You can stay there," Bruce says, smiling.

Cass leans over and whispers something in Steph's ear.

"Like I even care," Steph says. "Five whole stars, Cass. This is going to be insane!"

"Ugh, I miss spring break," Dick says, head dropping to the back of the sofa with an audible thunk. "I'm working. I'm an adult, and I'm working."

"Wooo! Spring Break!" Steph mimes whipping off her top and swinging it around her head. If they'd had wine with dinner she probably would have done it. She had when they'd been talking plans with Cissie and Bernard in the coffee shop last week.

"I don't think that's how it usually goes down in Hong Kong," Jason says. "More like 'Wooo, stupid American tourists to scam'!"

"Whatever. You're a boring adult too, aren't you?"

"Card carrying," says Jason. "Which is why Roy, Kory and I are going to space, because that's how damn boring we are."

"Won't Lian be on break from her school?" Tim asks.

"We're taking her with us."

"Bold."

"Yeah, well, she's into double figures now." Jason shrugs. "Roy wants to."

"I want to go to space," Dick pouts.

"Does anyone else have plans?" Alfred asks.

"Sumatra with Ravager," Damian says. "Poaching and human trafficking."

Dad and I are going fishing, even if I have to bribe Poison Ivy into sticking a couple of man-eaters around the lake to lure him out there," Barbara says.

"Isabella and I are investigating rumours Mister Bloom has popped up in Florida," Duke volunteers. "And then maybe going to see her grandma in Puerto Rico, if we can't find a way out of it."

"Hawaii," Tim says. They look at him, waiting for more. "Just to hang out with Kon. No mission."

"No mission? At all?"

"I'm sure something will come up," Tim says. "It usually does."

"An actual vacation. I don't know if I even remember what that looks like," Dick says.

"Oh my god, Dick, if you want to come to space, just spit it out."

Dick grins. "Yes!"

"I have Gotham to myself for two whole weeks?" Bruce asks. "The _Manor_ to myself? Peace and quiet. Doing things my way. Bachelorhood a second time. Alfred, what am I going to do with myself?"

"I'm quite sure I don't know, Master Bruce."

Tim fidgets. This is the first time in a long time the family have all been in one place, and the last time it's likely to happen until Alfred's birthday. And he's booked plane tickets to Hawaii, which was meant to be his reward for finally doing this.

"While- While we're all-"

But everyone is shouting suggestions at Bruce for how to spend _his_ spring break. And then Bruce holds up both hands, and says, "While we are still all here, we should coordinate patrols tonight," and Tim realises the moment is slipping away.

"Wait!"

Tim realises he's leapt to his feet, and if his panicked shout hadn't got people attention that fact he's standing definitely does. Everyone is staring at him. There's so many of them. Why is the family so big now? Why didn't he do this when it was just him, Bruce and Dick?

His breathing is fast and his palms are sweating so much he shoves them in his pockets to hide it.

"While we're all here," he says, "I just wanted to share something."

He must be bright red and he feels giddy. He doesn't know who he should be looking at, so he's staring into the middle distance like a kid giving a speech at school.

He really just has to get it over with.

"I'm gay," he says.

The room is silent for a moment.

"Oh my god. You suck."

"Steph?" It's not the reaction he was expecting, and not from her, though he understands she has a personal reason not to be thrilled at this news.

"Stephanie!" Dick stares at her, aghast. "Tim, you don't suck! You're amazing. You-"

"He does suck," Steph says, "because we had a pool on this, and if he'd just come out last week I'd have two hundred dollars right now."

"Who has a pool?" Dick asks. "Why wasn't I in this pool?"

"It doesn't matter," Jason says. "No one wins, because we set it up five years ago and everyone's out. Genuinely starting to wonder if you were straight, Replacement." He leans forwards, propping his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. "Why now?"

"Why now?" Tim frowns at him. "Is there another bet?" he asks.

"Maaaaaybe." Steph bats her eyes at him. "You kept us hanging for a long time, boy toy. We've had time to... speculate."

Well, that's alarming.

"Who is 'we'?" He narrows his eyes. "You and Jason," he says. He looks around the room. "Cass?"

Cass nods.

"Not Dick." He doubts Damian was in on it either, but the kid has kept quiet this whole time and Tim doesn't want to draw attention to him. "Duke?"

"Not to start with," Duke says. "But, well." He spreads his hands. "Peer pressure."

"Babs?"

"I refused to join in."

Of course not. She had access to his search history. It wouldn't have been fair on the others.

For the first time Tim risks looking at Bruce. His adoptive father's face is carefully blank, but he's absorbing the reaction from the whole room. If Tim had to guess, he's as surprised by the betting as he is by Tim coming out, but whether that's mildly perturbed or completely blindsided, Tim can't tell. He's not angry, at least.

"Alfred?"

"Indeed, Master Tim."

"Alfred!" Tim stares at the older man in shock.

Alfred smiles at him. "Rest assured, Master Tim, it was done with fond affection. You were not made the butt of any joke. Besides, I do believe under the circumstances, it's now you who is entitled to the victor's pot."

That does salve his wounded pride, just a little.

"Alfred?" Bruce is looking at the butler now. "You never said anything to me."

"No, Master Bruce. It was not mine to say anything about." There's a touch of steel to Alfred's voice, and his line of sight falls very deliberately on Tim, who's still standing in the middle of the room and feeling increasingly awkward about it.

"Ah. Yes." Bruce looks at Tim. Tim forces himself to stand still, the way he used to when he was being upbraided by Batman. He really hopes it isn't going to be dressed down in front of the rest of the family now. "You. Timothy. Yes. Thank you for sharing this with us." Bruce's gaze flicks to Alfred, checking how he's doing. "It doesn't change anything. Apparently it doesn't even come as surprise, to some of us." The acid in his tone makes him sound a little more human. "But I appreciate it takes courage to say it, even in a situation where, hopefully, you could be confident it would be well received."

He hadn't been confident, but he doesn't say that aloud. His knees are starting to feel weak and he really wants to sit down again.

He's done it. He's come out to Batman.

"It's Kon, right? You're telling us because you're spending spring break with your boyfriend," Dick says.

Tim jerks. "What? No! Kon and I aren't dating!"

"But you're hoping to, right?" Steph says.

"No! He's dating Star Girl. There's nothing going on between me and Kon." Not for years, anyway. "There isn't anyone right now."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bruce relax at that piece of information.

"Who were you betting on me dating?" Tim asks. "Do I get that pot too for being single?"

"Nah," says Jason. "That's still in play until you settle down and start adopting Robins of you own."

"Right, well, if we've covered everything," Bruce says, "perhaps we can start getting ready for this evening?"

#

Damian corners Tim in the locker room.

"Why now?" he hisses.

Tim buckles his bandoleer. "Jon told his dad everything," he says. "You asked me to be your canary, so, well. I did it."

Damian goes pale. "The alien knows? Who told you?"

"Kon. They had a party."

"A party?"

"Yeah. Look, I'm not going to make you tell Bruce, but you want to do it before Clark does." Tim leans against the locker. "And if you want a tip, don't do it after a big dinner in front of the whole family. I genuinely don't know how I kept from throwing up back there."

"Tt. I don't know why you bothered do it at all. To draw that kind of attention to yourself-"

"Damian!" Dick appears from the direction of the cave. "Tim isn't doing this for attention."

Tim raises a hand to forestall any more well meaning protestations. "Damian already knew," he says.

"You told him?"

"One of my friends at college outed me to him a while back." Tim reaches back and pulls his cowl over his head, tucking his hair into the back of the suit. "It's not a big deal."

"And yet you insisted on that tortuous song and dance," Damian says. He lifts his hood and drops it over his eyes, shrouding his face in shadows. "At least be consistent, Drake. Either it is worthy of note, or it is not."

He steps around Tim and walks stiffly out of the locker room, the soles of his boots striking a stark staccato on the floor. Tim can see he's terrified. He wonders what Dick sees.

"You're getting a hug," Dick says.

"I thought as much." Tim lets his big brother step in. He wishes he still had the cowl down, could press his face into the curve of Dick's neck and feel the warmth coming off him, but the armouring doesn't quite give him that range of movement or sensation. Still, it's good to be hugged. Good to know that hasn't changed.

"You're very brave," Dick says. "We all love you, Tim. Nothing's changed about that."

"I know."

Dick presses a kiss to the top of Tim's cowl. "You know I would never breach your trust by speculating about your love life, little brother. I respect your privacy."

Tim steps back and sighs. "I'm really not dating Kon."

"He'd be lucky to have you."

"Damn right," Tim says, "but we're just friends. The only reason I did this today is because we were all together, and I wanted to get it over with when there wasn't anything riding on it. And I could run away to Hawaii if it all went wrong."

"Because after Hawaii there might be something riding on it?" Dick asks.

"No! I mean, not with Kon. But it's Hawaii, and it's spring break, and if Tim Wayne gets tagged in a bunch of photos, I want to be ahead of the speculation." It's the best explanation he's been able to come up with so far.

"Hashtag getting Hono _lucky_?" Steph sticks her head around the door. Tim rolls his eyes and she sticks her tongue out at him. "You guys ready for the briefing?"

"So incredibly, immensely ready," Tim says. "The most ready I have been for a briefing in my life. I could literally not be more ready for this."

"I'll bet," Steph says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm pretty certain Joyfire is a thing in this universe, and they're raising Lian in a happy poly family, but it's been going on for so long no one really knows how to broach the subject now, even though they're all super dying to know what the actual dynamic is.


	7. Spring Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a series of shorts, this is trying quite hard to grow a plot.

The camp is on the edge of the jungle where it abuts the coffee plantations. It's a stopping point in both human and animal trades in opposite directions. Tigers and elephants come out of the jungle, and women are sent in to satisfy the other appetites of the poachers.

It was one of the coffee farmers who'd reached out to them. This place attracted more international oversight than most plantations, and they didn't want this trade putting their certification at risk. Damian doesn't care about coffee or the farmers, but he cares about the skins and tusks coming out of the jungle, and Rose Wilson cares about the women going in.

The best way to stop the trade is to change the market, and Damian is using his spring break to spearhead a Wayne Enterprises education program focusing on traditional medicine. But that's a slow process, and does little to change the minds of people who want the goods _because_ they come from endangered animals to show off their status. Punching poachers may be less effective, but it makes Damian feel a lot better.

They take up position on a hunting platform near the camp. It's old and half rotten, but it holds beneath their combined weight. It's been there since this was a poaching outpost deep in the jungle, but the plantations have chipped away at the forest. Now the poachers have to go much deeper to find the prey they seek and here, on the edge of the trees, they piles up the dead animals ready to ship out to waiting buyers.

The sounds of the jungle are loud around them. Rose is dozing against the tree trunk while Damian keeps watch.

He hasn't slept well for a few days. He forces himself to nap regularly in order to stay alert, but time like this, when he's awake and alone, he couldn't drop off to sleep if he tried.

Jon reached out to him before he and his father left for the fortress. Damian had had to listen to his friend's cheerful ramblings about rainbow cake and his family's plans for Metropolis Pride and how his mother had written this really long article about bi-erasure and the importance of Generation Z's attitudes to sexuality. He was wearing sunglasses in the colours of the bi pride flag and when the alien had passed by the back of the video call Damian had see several supportive pins on the lapel of his jacket.

Tim had proved that coming out was objectively safe, but it wasn't a celebration. Father would not be _more_ proud of him for being gay.

Not that he wants that. His father should be proud of him for things within his control, not something as arbitrary and out of his control as his sexuality.

He certainly wouldn't want that kind of attention forced upon him.

He could have tolerated it, he supposes. If he had to. If his father was as insecure as Jon's parents, felt the need to walk around actually telling people out loud that he loved his son, like he didn't trust them to intuit it. If he felt the need to perform acceptance, like he performs Brucie.

He wouldn't have said no to the cake, though.

If he'd made it work with Jon, he would have had to suffer through all of it. Badges and flags. Articles. Cake. A day out at Pride.

If he'd just been different. If he'd changed. If he'd made Jon-

No.

Bile rises in his throat as he pushes the thought away. He shouldn't be with Jon, or anyone, not as long as he still thinks like that. Not as long as he still wants to make them do what he wants. Make them understand. Make them stay. Make them love him.

He doesn't deserve cake or badges or a parade.

He pulls his knees up to his chin and wraps his arms around himself.

A chittering noise pulls him out of his self-pity. He stays still, scanning around for the source of the noise. A small black nose appears over the edge of the platform, followed by a pair of clawed paws.

The animal pulls itself over the lip and crouches, regarding Damian with curious eyes. It's a civet of some kind, an elongated cat-like face on a stoat-like body. It's marked with irregular black and grey splotches in three broad bands, perfect camouflage in the leafy shade of the jungle and against the forest floor. On its face these come to together to form a kind of domino mask, while white patches under its eyes give the impression of lenses.

It tilts its head to one side and then to the other, taking in the intruder.

Damian mirrors the movement.

It chitters again and approaches him. He reaches a hand out slowly, placing it on the platform so the animal can sniff around it. It seems used to humans, and it's disappointed Damian's hand is empty. It noses around their packs. Damian wonders what it's smelt that's brought it so close. Civets mostly eat fruit, and he's got some dried mango left in his utility belt. It won't do the animal nearly as much good as fresh, but the creature looks to be in good health - bright eyes, sharp teeth, glossy coat, a bit of fat over its muscles - and Damian decides to risk it. He'll only offer it a little piece, just in case.

He reaches into his belt slowly, hoping not to startle the animal, but it reacts instead by bounding over and sticking its face into the pouch. It pulls out a slice of mango the size of its head and drags it backwards across the platform.

Damian sighs fondly and sits back on his hands to watch the civet attack the dried fruit. It's much tougher than the animal's usual diet, but sweet enough to encourage the effort. Gripping the piece with its claws it tears off strip after strip with its sharp teeth.

"Well, isn't he a little cutie?" Rose has woken up, and she's smiling at the tableau unfolded before her. "Have you named him yet?"

"I don't suppose I'll ever see him again," Damian says evasively. Bandit. The creature's name is definitely Bandit.

"Any movement below?"

"It's been quiet for about ten minutes. I think we can approach shortly."

"After this guy's finished his supper?"

Damian suppresses a smile. Rose knows him too well sometimes.

Bandit swallows the last of the mango and cleans his face with his paws. He sniffs around Damian's belt again, testing how well sealed the other pouches are, but loses interest when he doesn't smell any more fruit.

He moves to the edge of the platform, strains a moment, and leaves a small pile of scat. He glances back at Damian once, then disappears over the side of the ledge and down into the forest.

"Charming."

Damian isn't squeamish about these things, and he leans over to examine the scat. Rose pulls a face at him.

"Mostly coffee beans," he says. "It must do well out of the nearby plantations."

"You get that Kopi Luwak coffee around here," Rose says. "That's some kind of animal shit."

"Hmmm."

"Ready to go punch some poachers in the face?"

"Yes."

#

They make short work of the camp.

There are no roads up here, no easy way for the authorities to get to them, so they truss the poachers up and load them into one of their own trucks. Rose talks to the women. A lot of them have been brought it from other islands, to make it harder for them to get home. The Phillipines, Malaysia, Singapore, other parts of Indonesia. Rose's tip was right, though; two are Hmong women from Cambodia.

They give the women their choice of the other trucks, make sure they're all fuelled up, and direct them to the WE building in Medan. The Wayne Foundation has a relocation program for trafficked women that wraps all the way around the world from Eastern Europe to the West Coast of America. Private jets and the right kind of political pressure can get you across a lot of borders without the right paperwork (something that also helps when you're in costume, though Jason is pushing for an official Red Hood passport, helmet and all).

While Rose establishes that one of the women knew her mother, Damian takes DNA samples from the dead animals and photographs the skins. There's a lot of them. Some of the women are eyeing up the pelts and ivory, seeing the chance to salvage something from their nightmare and bring back a fraction of the money they'd been promised when they were tempted away from home. Damian glares at them until they back off. These animals will never be medicine or decor or jewellery. He'll share the DNA with conservation charities to give them a chance to identify the animals. Some of the species here are so rare there's a chance the whole wild population is well catalogued. Hopefully they'll figure out where they need to step up patrols and improve security.

Once he's recorded everything, he builds a bonfire and sets light to the carcasses. The smell of burning hair and roasting bone is foul to Damian's nose, but he takes a vicious pleasure in watching it all burn.

The poachers are starting to wake up in the back of the truck. They're grouchy. Neither Damian nor Rose cares.

Wrapping everything up takes a couple of hours. Rose's new friend is going to travel with her, and Damian's going to take the poachers. The sun is on its way up, which should make the journey back to the city easier.

Damian is climbing into the cab of the truck when he sees a familiar face. The little civet is back.

"I'm sorry," he says (he coos, but in a low enough voice that no one overhears him, so it doesn't count). "I don't have any more fruit for you. You are a handsome boy, and I wish I did, but we must part ways now."

He takes his seat behind the wheel and reaches for the door to close it. The civet scrambles up the wheel arch and into the cab with him, hopping over his feet and climbing onto the passenger seat.

It wouldn't be the first time Damian has come back from a mission with a new pet.

Damian's been driving maybe an hour when Bandit puts his paws on the passenger window and chitters at him. They're on the edge of the coffee plantation and there's a strong smell of roasting beans in the air. It makes Damian think of Tim, which makes him think of coming out, which makes his stomach flip. But Tim did it for him, and he hasn't even asked for anything in return.

Damian sees a low building nearby. It's on the junction between the track he's currently jolting some very angry poachers over and the slightly better paved main road. He's passing anyway, so why not stop?

He parks the truck on the side of the road, just far enough away from the building that the poachers won't be overheard by anyone inside. Rose pulls up alongside.

"Everything okay?"

"I want to talk to the staff here, see if any of them are willing to testify about what's been going on."

Rose raises the eyebrow over her good eye.

"I may also pick up a souvenir," Damian admits. "I... owe Red Robin."

"That's sweet, kiddo. Is it true he finally came out?"

"Finally?"

"Oh come on, was anyone buying he was straight? He's dated some of the best tits in the business - I mean, I'd motorboat Wonder Girl in a hot second - and was a perfect gentleman. I chained myself naked to his bed and he didn't even break eye contact."

Damian considers the mental image. Aesthetically pleasing, but he has to admit it doesn't do anything for him, either. Not even Rose chained naked to Wonder Girl's bed.

Rose smiles at him, genuine and a little sympathetic. Damian feels like she's been reading his mind. "Get him the good shit, brat wonder. I'll see you in Medan."

He spends half an hour wandering around the roasting house, talking to the employees and sampling the coffee. As well as the grinders, roasters and farmers, there's also a lot of teenagers coming in and out. They come in with bags and go out with money. Damian asks his guide what's going on.

"Kopi Luwak!" he says cheerfully. "Very good! Toddy cats eat the coffee, shit the beans, makes best coffee in the world. Very expensive. Very good. You want to try?"

If he drinks any more coffee he's going to have to pull over every ten miles to urinate, but he remembers Bandit's scat and he has to admit he's curious.

"Many places put the toddy cats in cages, force feed them. Very sad. Here, they are wild. Traditional way. The boys find the shit, bring it to us to check. If just coffee beans, that's bad. Suggests force feeding. Wild cats eat everything. We check the shit, know it's wild. Clean it, roast it, best coffee in the world."

"Toddy cats? Is that the same as the civets?"

"Pam civets, yes. Called toddy cats because they get drunk on palm flower sap. Drunk civets, very cute."

It is different to any other coffee Damian's had (and with the night job, he's had a lot). It's how he always hopes coffee will taste, but never does. It's not so bitter, so sour, so acrid. There's a strong chocolate note and fruity overtones. It's perfectly balanced.

"Do you deliver?" he asks.

"All over! You know Harrods of London? We deliver there."

"What about private individuals?"

"You pay? We send."

Of course, he can't just give them Tim's address. It might be the other side of the world, but someone always finds out.

"I'll take two kilos now," he says. "I know some people in Gotham. If they like it, they will order it."

"Two kilos?" his guide stares at him. "That is almost three thousand american dollars." 

Damian considers this. He has cash with him, but not that much. "One kilo," he says, "for now."

They barter for a little, Damian making a significant point of how much easier it'll be for the kids to get the scat now there aren't serious criminals camped out on the edge of the plantation, and he leaves with the coffee and his entire cash reserve wiped out.

The poachers are even unhappier with being left in the truck while Damian was shopping, but Bandit's still on the passenger seat. Damian feeds him some coffee berries he palmed on his way out. Bandit sniffs at the packet of coffee.

"I don't even want to imagine what that smells like to you," Damian says. "Hopefully my brother will appreciate it, though." He runs a finger over Bandit's head. "You will meet him soon, and my other brothers, and my cat Pennyworth, and my dog Titus, and my cow, Bat Cow, and my demon..."

Sumatra is stunning in the early morning sunlight. He's got energy to burn thanks to the coffee tasting, and there's miles to go. Bandit is an attentive listener, chittering in all the right places, and even the poachers shut up after he takes a few corners at speed.

It's been a good spring break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Palm civet coffee tastes incredible, like no other coffee I've ever drunk, but it turns out the majority of it is really cruelly farmed, as I discovered while googling where to set this fic (I was hoping you could get Kopi Luwak in Cambodia, since that's where Rose's mum is from). Of course, Damian wouldn't brook any animal cruelty.
> 
> [There definitely was at least one plantation trying to produce it sustainably](https://www.theguardian.com/sustainable-business/2014/sep/19/civet-cat-coffee-worlds-most-expensive-brew-made-sustainably-kopi-luwak), by collecting feces from wild civets, but their internet footprint is small enough that I suspect they're not around any more. But for the purposes of this story, they are, and that's where Damian starts ordering it from.


	8. The Talk

Bruce had hoped, really hoped, he'd misunderstood what Clark had told him. As far as he knew he only had one gay son, who was far too old for Clark's fifteen year old kid. So he'd grunted and turned the conversation back to Braniac's ongoing attack, making a mental note to follow up before any of his kids got back from their vacations.

Afterwards he's in the cave, examining Tim's social media in forensic detail. As far as Bruce can tell he really is in Hawaii, and though the clone is shirtless is most of the pictures they don't appear to be demonstrating any more physical affection than one would expect between friends. Equally, there is no sign of the kind of awkwardness Bruce would expect if Tim were engaged in a romantic relationship with the clone's half brother. Working his way back through the feed, it appears Tim has had little time for anything apart from college and Wayne Enterprises. He has location tracking turned off on his facebook account, but his android phone has still tracked enough of his movements that Bruce is confident his son hasn't found time to visit either Titans Tower or Kansas in the better part of a year now.

He doesn't know how the clone has persuaded Tim to take an actual, genuine, relaxing vacation, but he appreciates the effort it must have taken and quite how badly Tim must have needed it to agree. He makes a note to be less aggressive with Kon-El in future.

It was never likely to be Tim that Clark was referring to, but Bruce wanted to eliminate the possibility first. Now he has to consider the possibility that not one, but two of his sons had felt the need to hide a significant portion of their identity from him, and had done so successfully. He's losing his touch. The city has kept him so busy recently he's lost focus.

He has to be sure, though, before he confronts Damian. His social media is even less enlightening than Tim's, until Bruce realises he's looking for what's missing. Every single post Damian made since he joined Instagram was liked by Jon, and he usually left a comment as well. Jon appears in two thirds of Damian's images. They're making some kind of physical contact in over half of them, which is an especially significant data point for Damian, who isn't touching anyone else in his photos apart from a single Christmas photo from two years ago, where Dick has his hand on Damian's shoulder.

And then, five months ago, this changes. Bruce vaguely remembers a mission to the Rockies that went wrong, forcing Damian and Jon to survive in an abandoned cabin for over a week. Damian has used a posting service to avoid any breaks in his social media that might be mapped to Robin's adventures, but Bruce identifies the period by matching the weather in the exterior shots to the meteorological records for the period. After the postdated pictures the change is stark: Damian and Jon stop touching. For a month they continue to appear in each other's pictures, but they always stand a least a foot apart. They make a point of interacting with other people. They continue to comment on each other's feeds, but Jon's interactions with other users drops off sharply.

And then they stop appearing in photos together at all. They stop liking each other's photos. It is rare to find any images or text posted by their friend group where both of them have interacted in some way.

Recent posts are better, but the boys are still clearly keeping their distance from each other. It's less surprising now that the Titans haven't come together for the school vacation.

Bruce's heart breaks for his son. Without knowing precisely what has happened, it's clear to him it's over, and that it ended painfully. And his son never said anything to him. Couldn't say anything to him.

He needs to know more. He needs to know everything. Once he has all the information he'll be able to correctly identify the best path to take.

He starts hacking into the security records from Titans Tower.

#

Damian is summoned into his father's office. Bandit has been causing come upheaval amongst his other pets, and he suspects father probably wants him to house the civet at the Tower instead. He has prepared several counter arguments.

Bruce is standing at the window, hands behind his back. He turns as Damian comes in. He's been pacing.

Damian is hit by a solid wall of dread. That kind of nervous seriousness suggests his father is about to deliver unpleasant news. He wishes Titus had followed him in - his size and mass make Damian feel small, comfort him like he's still a child - but the dog is especially sulky about Bandit.

"Damian. My son."

Damian clenches his fists at his sides and braces himself for the worst. He assumes his mother is dead.

"Since I have known you, you have grown and changed so much. I fear I've missed more of it than I intended. Important moments in a young man's life that I should have been there for." 

Bruce turns to look at him. They're the same height now, but Damian keeps his head lowered, doesn't look his father in the eye. He's still waiting for the blow to fall.

"It has come to my attention recently that you have experienced several... firsts. Events you should have been able to come to me for advice about. I understand the impulse to keep these things private. I was the same at your age. That desire to separate yourself from your parental units and forge your own path is a sign of oncoming adulthood. I applaud that."

Damian is beginning to suspect the blow is not coming from the angle he is anticipating. He desperately hopes he's wrong.

His father tries to hand him a small, square, foil packet. Damian is too numb with shock to take it, and it falls to the carpet. Bandit runs down his body and picks it up with his teeth.

Bruce frowns. "You shouldn't use that," he says. "There's a risk the animal has punctured it."

Damian can't even nod.

Bruce takes a deep breath and returns to what Damian is starting to realise is a prepared speech. He desperately hopes his father is coming to the end of it.

"Though the urge for exploration and experimentation is perfectly normal at your age, it is important to consider all possible risk factors. I understand that your school gave you a thorough grounding in the basics of reproduction, but you may be interested in activities that do not present a risk of pregnancy. That is perfectly normal. You should be conscious, though, that even where there is not a risk of pregnancy there remains a risk of sexually transmitted diseases. A barrier will benefit you not just with vaginal and anal sex, but should also be employed during oral and digital stimulation, whether or not the receiving partner is brought to orgasm."

"You didn't give Drake this speech!" Damian interrupts. He can't help it. He has to make this stop.

Bruce frowns. "I am not singling you out, Damian. However, Drake had his own parents to discuss these matters with. Additionally, Stephanie Brown was already pregnant when they began their relationship." He pauses. "You mean when he informed the family of his homosexuality? I don't think it would have been appropriate in front of everyone. Additionally, he is twenty two."

"I don't need it either," Damian says hotly.

"You do," Bruce says. "You have been engaging in sexual activity with the Kent boy."

Damian feels like he's been slapped. "Clark told you that?"

"He told me enough. I am the world's greatest detective, Damian. Your activities at the Tower are not as private as you believed."

"We're not. We aren't."

"It's over, for now," Bruce says. "I know."

Damian thinks he sounds almost sympathetic, but it's hard to tell over the blood roaring in his ears.

"It's over forever," Damian says.

"That's... good. The Kents are very pleasant people, but interspecies relationships are fraught."

Damian nods. He wonders if he's going to faint. It would be nice. His father could finish the speech while Damian is unconscious, and then they can never speak of this again.

"I expect you to comport yourself as a gentleman in all things, Damian. You will no more enter the sexual fray without protection than you would a battle. You will always ensure you have enthusiastic, informed consent from your partners. You will treat your partners with respect."

"Like you do, you mean? I know your reputation, father."

"You also know it is fabricated." Bruce's voice is hard. "You will respect me, as well. You may think of yourself as an adult now, but you are not entitled to that title simply because you have spent some time experimenting with other teens."

"It wasn't-" Damian's breath catches in his throat in something suspiciously like a sob. "You don't understand!"

Bruce reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, but Damian shakes it off, stumbling back.

"You don't understand anything," Damian shouts. "I'm not experimenting!"

"Damian, I-"

"I am gay, father. I don't care if that earns your respect. I am adult enough to know my own mind, and if you continue to believe my relations are evidence of my immaturity, than you can rest assured I will not allow any trace of them to come to your attention going forwards."

He spins on his heel and bolts for the door. Bandit has to dig his claws through Damian's shirt to keep his grip as Damian fumbles for the handle and flings the door open.

"Damian!"

"Leave me alone!" He slams the office door behind him and takes off down the corridor at a sprint.

His father knows he's gay.

His father knows he and Jon explored each other's bodies.

His father hates him.

He hates his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be the last part, but I felt too bad for Damian to leave it here.
> 
> I feel bad for Bruce, too. He's really trying here. Getting The Talk from his own father, who was a doctor, was a thoroughly educational experience (I like to think Thomas Wayne probably made it inclusive too) but Bruce has missed one of the most important bits, which is to have it with the kid before they hit puberty, not after they've lived through years of shame and confusion. He doesn't want to leap to conclusions about Damian's sexuality based on a single relationship. so he's trying to keep his language open and accepting, but he falls back on some very Batmannish words when he starts to get flustered. Frankly, it's a surprise he doesn't end up on a long metaphor about self-discovery and sexual identity as a forensic science.


	9. Pride

**~~**BatKids Chat**~~**

R3: R5 has removed all of his social media. All of it. Anyone know what's up?

R4/BG3: U cld ask him?

R3: including all chat.

R4/BG3: nvrmd

R1: He and B had a fight. He won't tell me what about, even though I have magnanimously allowed him to sleep on my couch.

R2: i have slept on your couch. are you trying to torture the information out of him?

R3: So he's angry at B and sleep deprived. That's gonna be fun.

R1: Also has the ferret with him, or whatever it is. It keeps scentmarking my apartment.

R3: Palm civet. Magic coffee animal.

R2: ???

R3: Google it.

R3: The coffee is all mine, btw. Too good for you heathens.

R3: BRB, coffee break.

R1: O, can you see what might have triggered R5's social media blackout?

O/BG1: Same thing that's got him sleeping on your sofa. B. He did a deep dive a few days ago.

R1: Do you know what he found?

O/BG1: Honestly? No. R5's social media was 90% pictures of his pets and occasionally people he deigned to allow close to them. But B moved on to the Titans Tower security feeds after that. I'm pretty certain he may have gone in person, but the Tower was empty and he's good at covering his tracks.

R1: None of the Titans were around for spring break? That's weird. We couldn't wait to spend time together, back in the day.

R2: so theyre not as codependent as original flavour. good for them.

R1: Maybe they had a fight? That might make R5 pull his social media. Cutting off his nose to spite his face.

R1: I mean, I love him, but he's always been a bit all or nothing about relationships.

R2: plus hes 17.

R1: Plus that.

R4/BG3: B hlpd S w/ Braniac. mb S sd smthg?

R1: ???

R2: ???

O/BG1: B helped S with Braniac. Maybe S said something. If the kids have fallen out it makes sense S would reach out to B.

R3: Back.

R3: ... maybe we should respect his privacy.

R2: Oooh no. Not now. You know something, don't you?

R3: No. I started this conversation because I know nothing, remember?

R3: But now I have had more coffee, it occurs to me R5 prob wouldn't appreciate us all talking about him behind his back like this. Or pressuring him to tell us what's going on.

R3: Prob best to wait it out?

R1: don't know if I can. Civet has eaten all my cereal. It's basically a skinny raccoon, isn't it?

R3: let me talk to him, then.

#

"You can't come out and not go to Pride." Steph puts her hands on her hips.

"We're _at_ Pride!" Tim gestures around them. They're with the staff from the Wayne Foundation waiting for the march to get moving. Steph has the bi pride colours chalked into her hair and enough rainbow garlands around her neck to start a luau.

"This doesn't count," Steph insists. "This is work. Dick's here!"

"Hey." Dick doesn't come to Wayne events very often, but this holds more appeal than the usual gala. Damian, however, is very noticeably not with him.

"If it was work, Dick wouldn't be here," Tim says. "I have a paper due tomorrow, Steph. As much as I'd love to spend the night doing shots off your drag queen friend's stomach, I have another four thousand words to write."

"Write 'em drunk! It's how I got through half of my degree." Of course, Steph actually finished high school to schedule, and therefore started college when planned, which meant she's already graduated. Something she is more than happy to rub in Tim's face whenever he tries to use school work as an excuse. "It's Pride! We can be in the parade, go get drunk, and still have you home in time for tea."

"She's right," Dick says. "Also, Tequila Heels does this thing with a lime in her pierced nipples that you have to see."

Tim opens his mouth to point out he saw Tequila Heels' nipples last year, and Dick just got too drunk to remember, but he also remembers insisting he couldn't go last year too, and though he's fuzzy on how that turned out it definitely involved body shots and did not involve getting much writing done.

And he's come out since then (apparently to all of the Wayne Foundation staff, too, thanks to Steph) and maybe it will be fun to do Pride and actually be... proud.

"You are proof reading my drunk essay," he says, waving a finger in Steph's face. "Tomorrow morning, before work, you are proof reading the whole thing."

Steph shrugs. "If you actually write it, sure, I'm in."

#

It's late afternoon and everything is warm and soft, and Tim has had an amazing idea for his paper. He's been writing it on his phone between shots. He should write all his papers this way. Everyone in the bar is so helpful.

He's in the middle of a sentence about two factor authentication (it should be three, he has so many theories on three factor, he should write a paper about that) when a message appears on his screen.

*Where are you*

and then

*This is Damian*

Is Damian drunk? Is he being drunk texted by Damian? Where is Damian?

Tim climbs carefully of his bar stool and wanders through the crowd of revellers. It's weird that it's still light outside.

Oh, he was in the Viaduct. Because it's under a viaduct. It's such a well named bar.

A flicker of movement draws his eye upwards. A scrap of black and yellow flutters on the edge of the railway line above Tim.

On the one hand, he's too drunk to be climbing around rooftops and over train tracks, but on the other, he really wants to check Damian's okay.

Tim weaves through the crowd, accepting two flags, a balloon, some rainbow deeley-boppers and two free shots of tequila from various promoters as he squeezes past the bars. He ducks down an alley and behind some industrial trash cans at the back of one of the clubs. There's a residential block with a fire escape that's an easier climb than straight up the side of a building. He's still a little lightheaded by the time he reaches the roof.

Damian is watching him from the roof of the club opposite. He's in costume.

"Hey, baby bat," Tim says.

"You're drunk."

"Yep. I brought you tequila!" Tim walks over to the edge of the roof and eyes up the jump.

Damian makes it easily.

"You're so good at that." Tim beams at him.

"You are very drunk," Damian says.

"It's Pride. Steph made me. I lost her a few bars back though, and Dick. But everyone's so nice! Every time I say this is my first pride since coming out people buy me drinks." He hands Damian one of the tequila shots. "Go on. You probably won't even feel it."

"You're an enabler," Damian says, but he downs it anyway.

Tim pushes Damian's hood back and puts the deeley-boppers on him, and tucks one of the flags into his belt.

"You need glitter," Tim says. "I missed you in the parade."

Damian reaches up and pokes one of the rainbow disco balls now attached to his head. It pings wildly back and forth, throwing sparkles across the roof top.

"You are ridiculous when you're drunk," Damian says, and his voice is fond.

Tim grabs his hand and pulls him across the roof towards the train tracks. They hop across roof tops until they're back over Gotham's gay district, where the party continues apace. Tim finds Viaduct and points it out to Damian.

"There, under the railway and behind the sign. Get us there."

Damian fires his grapple at the train tracks, wraps his arm around Tim's waist, and swings them over.

The space behind the sign is damp and full of trash from the track above, but the beat rises through the ceiling of the club below and the low sunlight hits the gap at just the right angle to keep both of them warm. The festival vibe from the street below bleeds into the air, the buzz of happy chatter, the smell of sugary alcohol and overly sweet vapes, the sparkle of glitter in the wind. Tim hands Damian the other tequila shot.

Damian frowns. "How did you manage not to spill that?"

"Skills," Tim says. "Do you want a balloon? It's full of rainbow glitter."

"You're covered in glitter," Damian says. He runs a finger along Tim's bare forearm and shows him the clean swipe left behind.

"Yeah," Tim says. "So you're staying with Dick?"

Damian looks down at the flag in his belt.

"Father found out," he says, "from the alien. The subsequent conversation did not... go well." He takes the flag out of his belt and studies with the the level of attention usually reserved for Poison Ivy's toxins. Tim sees his adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"He's not disappointed in you," Tim says, putting a hand on the small of Damian's back. "Trust me."

"I am disappointed in _him_ , though!" Damian says. "He isn't _here_ , Tim, not for either of us. He's at Arkham, again."

"We're here, though," Tim says.

"You are." Damian pulls the flag from its plastic stem, and starts methodically tearing along the lines to separate it into different coloured strips.

"You're here too," Tim says. "Maybe you're not getting drunk on jello shots and letting cute lesbians cover you in glitter, but you're here, and you're making this a safe place to be. That's the point of Pride, to make the world safer."

"Pride is a protest," Damian says.

"So is Robin." Tim hands him the other flag. "Batman is part of Gotham, the dark and the night, the fear and the anger, but Robin stands against it. You're a symbol of hope and joy."

There's a long pause.

"What you're saying," Damian says, "is being Robin is fundamentally gay?"

"Baby bat, I've spent my afternoon watching Dick being groped by drag queens, Steph flashing a lot of women, and I'm pretty certain I saw Jason earlier in his old uniform. Pride's out, thighs out, baby bat."

Damian raises an eyebrow.

"There's a lot of people here in Dick's old costume," Tim says. He points to the crowd below, picking out five Dick Robins without even having to try. "I mean, talk about fundamentally gay, those spanky pants are an _icon_."

Damian cocks his head to one side and considers the crowd below them.

"There's a couple of Cass's Batgirl," he says.

Tim follows his line of sight.

"Yeah, no, baby bat, they're not being Cass."

"But-"

"I'll tell you when you're older," Tim says, and giggles at his own joke.

"Father kept telling me I was an adult now, because of what he suspects I did with Jon. Tim, he handed me a condom." Damian stares at him with wide eyes.

Tim is already giggling, and that titbit doesn't help, even though he also files away "suspects" to re-examine when he's sober.

"I dropped it."

Tim presses both hands to his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter before it starts attracting attention. His whole body is shaking, his ribs heaving with the effort of suppressing the guffaws, and he falls onto his back.

Damian pokes him in the side.

"Bandit bit through it."

And Tim is gone. There's no holding it back now, and luckily a train is passing because he _howls_ with laughter. Damian drops down beside him, and he's laughing as well. He's a snorter, his mouth pressed tightly shut while he forces the air through his nose instead. Tim rocks back and forth, while Damian quivers from side to side.

"It's not.. It's not... You can't use it _now_!"

"That's what fa- fa- father said!"

Tim doesn't know how long it is until they're both spent, wheezing and trembling, tears leaking from their eyes. Tim feels like he's laughed half the alcohol out of his body. He's not going to be able to see a condom without thinking of Bruce and Bandit for some time to come now.

Damian sits up first and pulls Tim upright with him.

"I have to return to patrol," Damian says.

"I have to write a ridiculous essay," Tim says. "I've been writing notes while I've been out drinking. I don't think they're good notes."

"Tt. I don't suppose they are."

"I'm glad you came, Damian."

Damian gives me a small smile. "Me too."

Tim climbs to his feet. "There's a way down into the back of the club from up here," he says. He probably should have remembered that earlier, but in his defence he'd forgotten which club he was in. "It used to be one of Penguin's places, before the area got too clean for him."

"Can you manage it in your state?"

"Did I, or did I not, manage to carry two shots of tequila over multiple roof tops for you? I can handle a ladder."

"Tt. I will remain here until you emerge on the sidewalk below."

And, okay, maybe the ladder isn't the easiest thing, because apparently laughter doesn't sober you up that much, and maybe he misses a few rungs and gains a few bruises on the way down. It drops him into a small room between the bathrooms.

Three different guys offer to buy him a drink on his way out, but Tim waves them off. He doesn't want to leave Damian hanging around too long, and besides, he really should be getting to work on that paper.

The air in the street is nearly as close as in the club, and it's hard to push against the flow of the crowd to get far enough from the entrance to somewhere Damian will see him from his vantage point.

Damian lurks behind the V of Viaduct.

Tim isn't sure Damian's seen him, so he waves.

He realises he may have made an error when he starts to attract attention, and then the whole crowd is looking up at the sign.

Damian steps out from behind it.

The crowd erupts, people waving like maniacs.

"Roooooooobiiiin!" one of the five spanky pants Robins yells.

There's a pause, and Robin waves back.

Tim's heart swells for Damian. He has never been one for the public appearances, but he needs to know he's appreciated. Tim whoops at him, which sets of a wave of cheering. Someone fires a glitter cannon at him.

A train rumbles over the bridge behind him and Damian fires his grapple to a nearby building. The cheers follow him as he swings over the crowd, changing to a chant of "Ro-bin Ro-bin". Damian stays over the heavily peopled streets, changing direction in mid air in time with the chants as he swings from building to building. He executes a perfect mid air flip, and disappears over a rooftop.

Next year, they'll do Pride properly, together.

Or maybe they'll do it in costume.

#

**~~**BatKids serving the best tea**~~**

R2: RR is the least subtle y/y?

R4/BG3: 100%

R2: new betting pool?

R4/BG3: :D

R1: on what?

BB: u invited R1?

R2: lessee if he can figure this out

R2: babybat and babysupes are touchy feely besties

R2: theeeeen r5 and sb aren't

R2: r5 is sad and grumpy (no change there)

R4/BG3: meanwhile, my gay X boyf fiiiiiiinally cms out 4 no apprnt rsn. r5 alrdy knw.

R2: S sez sthing to B

R2: B checks out r5's fb and insta.

R2: B checks out TT security cams

R2: B checks out TT's laundry

R2: B and r5 have A Talk aka a fight

R2: r5 runs away

R2: Only Gay Robin TM makes a big deal about how he should be the one to talk to r5

R2: all the clues, laid out. come on golden boy. use that brain like B taught you

R1: I don't get what R3 coming out has to do with it?

R2: ::sigh:: this is why we didnt invite you to the betting pool

R4/BG3: ur lcky ur prty

BG2/BB: ikr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last piece of this for now, but you guys have given me a bunch of good ideas, so I might revisit it?
> 
> From this point onwards in the series we're moving in a much shippier direction. It's gonna be TimDami, and I know that's not to everyone's taste, so feel free to imagine this is the end instead and they live happy but separate lives as supportive gay brothers in a messed up codependent family :) They probably go to Pride in costume next year!


End file.
